


Scarred Words

by itsfaberrytaboo (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age of Ultron doesn't exist and neither do the Star Wars prequels, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/itsfaberrytaboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Feel the words? ... They're gone. They took them.... But I had them memorized. They took that, too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarred Words

It was half past eight when she came into her office and asked for a beer.

Maria slid her chair back a foot, opened up the mini fridge and took out two, sliding one across the desk. She took a last, longing look at the file that lay before her, then closed it and threw it on the other side of her laptop.

Out of sight, out of mind.

May opened her bottle with a crack and a hiss. She took a deep swig, then let out a satisfied sigh, propping her boots up in front of her.

“Hey! Hey, no feet on the desk!”

May ignored her, and Maria rolled her eyes before opening her own beer and taking a drink.

“Sam Adams,” May said, glancing at the label. “I’m surprised this isn’t some fancy craft beer that costs ten dollars a bottle from some small village in Colorado.”

“Colorado?” Maria said with a raised eyebrow.  She snorted when May shrugged. “I don’t do craft beer. If you ever see me sniffing a drink and talking about fruity notes you have permission to shoot me.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“That was the plan.”

She put her own feet up. Screw dirt or scratches. She’d just ask Fury for a new desk. He owed her, after all. Maybe. She glanced at the folder on her desk.

May noticed the look. “Barton?”

Clint was away… somewhere. Doing… something. Maria shook her head.

“Romanoff.”

Now it was May’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

_Romanova, Natalia A._ read the tab at the top of the folder, in Maria’s fine, blockish handwriting. Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

“She still working for Stark?”

“Mmhm.”

The file held nothing more than Natasha Romanoff’s entire life. That, and intel. Field notes, scattered with names, dates, places. A procured handbook of espionage without emotion, and yet Maria expected each new report as though they were love letters. It had only been a few weeks, but to Maria it felt like it had been years. She pored over each new bit of information, thinking that maybe, just maybe, there might be something to read between the lines.

So far, it had all been business.

“Shouldn’t Fury be the one babysitting?”

The idea bristled Maria, but she held it back by taking another slug of beer.

“Sometimes the grunt work gets delegated to the little people.”

“You’re deputy director, I hardly think that classifies you as little people. But I don’t think that classifies you to go digging through her file, either. You’ve never gotten your hands dirty with an agent before, what’s so special about this one?”

Maria thought about this. Her drink was empty, but she only tossed the bottle into the trash at her feet, not bothering to grab another one. She looked across her desk at May. The agent in her uniform stared back at her, gaze unflinching but curious. There was silence as Maria considered her options.

“She’s mine.”

Now she grabbed for another beer, flailing wildly as her chair nearly tipped over, before she righted herself with both feet on the ground.

“That sounds a little predatory, don’t you think? Holding her file hostage, saying she’s ‘yours’? What the hell does that mean, anyway? You don’t—“

“No, Melinda,” she said through gritted teeth. “You don’t get it. She’s _mine_.”

Hers, Maria thought. Hers with wild red hair and curves to make every man turn and stare. Hers with full lips that curled into self-satisfied arrogant smirks and set into thin lines of defiance.

May gaped a little. “Wait, seriously?”

Maria rubbed her face with her hand, then grunted as she reached up and yanked the tightly-wound bun free from her head. She set the beer bottle down and tugged at her left sleeve with her right hand, revealing her wrist and the words there.

_Are you the welcoming committee_?

May let out a short, clipped bark of a laugh, and she shook her head, sliding her feet off Maria’s desk only to drape them over her chair.

“Sounds like her.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, damn.”

“Yep.”

It wasn’t like Maria and Melinda May were _friends_. Well, Maria might call it that, but May would probably just call it I Come By Every So Often For a Beer and She Doesn’t Complain. Most everyone knew about Maria’s mini fridge and her stash, but no one ever really took her up on it except May. Which was fine, Maria wasn’t the entertaining type. But every now and then, even if May just came in and drank and sat in silence… it was nice.

“You were the last person I expected, I have to say, Hill.”

Maria tipped her bottle at the agent. She’d been the last person Maria had expected, herself. And it had been onto her wrist the words had appeared, sending her life skyrocketing into a freefall like someone jumping off a helicarrier without a parachute.

She’d thought about doing that, a time or two.

“She’s cute.”

Maria grinned, not even jealous. Hell yeah, she was cute. Especially in that uniform, black leather hugging her ass in the most delicious of ways. Or in jeans, them doing the same thing.

“Stop that.”

Maria eyed her over the beer bottle.

“Stop having those thoughts.” May gestured at her head. “At least wait until I’m out of the room, ugh.”

Maria made to chuck the beer bottle at May’s head, then sat it down with a grunt. She glanced back at the folder.

“How long has it been?”

“Three weeks.”

“You’ve only known for three weeks?”

Maria blinked and shook her head to clear the alcohol-induced fuzz from her head. “No, I’ve known _that_ for months now.”

“And three weeks…”

“Since I talked to her.”

“Huh.” Now Melinda’s face was uncertain. It wasn’t often that their drinks resulted in heart to hearts, and especially one in which Deputy Director of SHIELD Commander Maria Hill told May that her soulmate, borne out by the words tattooed on her skin, was Agent Natasha Romanoff.

“Never mind,” Maria sighed.

“No, I mean you can talk about it, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to offer any words of wisdom.”

May’s soul mark was on her back, she had told Maria once. She wouldn’t reveal the words, which was just fine to Maria. Most people didn’t go around talking about their soulmate. Maria’s just happened to be on her wrist, exposed when she wasn’t wearing a suit or a uniform. People may not ask, but they knew.

“Ever had a soulmate that didn’t even want to talk to you?”

“Nope,” May confirmed, standing up and tossing her empty beer bottle into the trash can. “But if I find him or her and she doesn’t, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Maria gave her a small grin. “You do that.”

May nodded and started off for the door to Maria’s office, but stopped when she reached it. She turned.

“Hill?”

“Yeah?”

She was already reaching for Romanoff’s file.

“She’ll come around.”

Maria glanced up. “What makes you so sure?”

May shrugged, holding onto the door jamb, half-in, half-out.

“Sooner or later, everybody needs a drink.”

***

_“You were supposed to eliminate her.”_

_His hands were lazy, unhurried, and Maria thought she could detect a hint of a smirk on Hawkeye’s face._

_“Do you often defy orders, Agent Barton?”_

Just this one, _he signed, and Maria scowled at him as an aside; she’s still staring at the young woman on the other side of the mirror, sat half-slumped at the table as if she could give a royal damn where she was. Maria was pretty sure that was an accurate feeling, at the moment._

_“If you’ve got a good reason, I’m all eyes.”_

She doesn’t want to be who she is, _Clint signed rapidly now, and its thanks to Maria’s admittedly only cursory knowledge of ASL that she could parse out most of what he was saying and fill in the rest with context._

She’s tired of what she’s been doing. And she wants to wipe her slate clean.

_“We’re not running a rehab center, Barton,_ ” _Maria said, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She felt the sharp, almost angry tug on her sleeve, which dipped low. She turned just in time to see Barton averting his eyes from her left wrist._

She wants to help. She can help. She’s good at what she does and…

_He hesitated._

… she can be a valuable asset _._

_Well, if there was anything SHIELD could use more of, it was valuable assets. Those two words would be music to Fury’s ears and would save both Maria and Clint from lecture and/or suspension. It would’ve probably been both, Maria thought. At most if she did her job right they’d have one of the world’s most powerful assassins on their side. And if not, at least they’d have a more effective way of keeping their eye on the Black Widow._

_“If this goes wrong, Barton, it’s your ass in the sling, got it?”_

_She didn’t need ASL to understand his thumbs-up, or his confident smirk as he walked off. Maria groaned to herself and rubbed her nose again, feeling the beginning of a headache start to creep behind her eyes. She gripped the file in her hand, and swung the door open._

_A pair of defiant green eyes met hers. “Are you the welcoming committee?” Romanova sneered, and Maria’s legs nearly buckled beneath her._

_She had to grab hold of the table in front of her as her hand began to_ burn _._

_She didn’t_ look _like an assassin. Rather, Romanova looked… like a teenager. She was twenty-three, according to the file that Maria had perused only briefly. Just enough to get a handle on the situation, not enough to actually feel like she was an expert on the red-headed Russian sat before her. She had on jeans and a loose-fitting grey sweatshirt; her curls touched the hood of it against her back and gave her a tousled appearance. Like she’d just woken up from a deep sleep._

_And was really, really grumpy about it._

_But Maria wasn’t concerned, at that moment, about the futility of judging a Russian assassin’s book by her cover. She was concerned with holding herself up, because rushing into her, besides the pain from her skin tingling as if a million tattoo guns were pounding out a staccato of song, was something that she had only read about in books._

_She had just opened the door onto a woman who had killed more people than the entirety of SHIELD put together, probably, and Deputy Director Commander Maria Hill wanted to_ hold _her. She was staring at Natasha with a mixture of awe, confusion, what felt to her raw desire. Love ripped her apart and pasted her back together into some semblance of herself, and Maria knew, staring at Romanova, that the other woman felt it too. Her Red Room training was impeccable; her green eyes had widened and her mouth opened into a small silent “o” before it had snapped shut._

_Romanova folded her arms across her chest, daring Maria with her stance and a lifted chin._

_Maria didn’t need to look down to see the words emblazoned on her skin. She’d seen them every day of her life, after all. She’d put cream on her wrist later. Trace the words with a shaking finger. Laugh at the sheer non-romance of it._

_She pretended that she was using the table for leverage, both palms flat on the wood as she leaned forward. Romanova didn’t flinch, and it disappointed her. Other targets flinched, grew anxious, demanded to know what SHIELD wanted of them._

_Maria had to remind herself that Natasha wasn’t her target. This realization brought a brief smile to her face, which vanished when the other woman in the room looked at her oddly._

_Her beloved._

_She’d have to pull all of the books out, the ones she had stashed in the locker under her bed. Maria hadn’t read about soul bonds since she was fresh out of high school. She’d have to begin again._

_Briefly she thought of telling the assassin what they both knew._

_Maria decided against it._

_There was work to do._

_“I’m Commander Maria Hill, Deputy Director of SHIELD.”_

_***_

The break room was something that Fury called “fancy ass.” It didn’t escape Maria that the SHIELD headquarters having a break room was a little strange, but more than once she’d welcomed the chance to leave her office and sneak down to the second floor. She’d grab a soda from the machine and sink down into one of the leather recliners, pop the foot rest and close her eyes for a minute.

It always amused her if there were others in the break room, or if they entered in after she’d settled with a luxurious sigh into the recliner. Boisterous men and women, seasoned veterans and trainees – all of them quieted the minute they laid eyes on Maria Hill. The clattering of the pool and foosball tables would stop, and the silence would be blissful, broken only occasionally by the sound of someone munching on chips or gathering up fast food wrappers to be thrown in the trash.

Every now and then she’d wave a hand, saying, “I’m not going to yell at you for relaxing. Pretend I’m not even here.” Sometimes it worked; most times they were just as terrified of her as they were of Fury. Which was ridiculous, really.

Fury was a pussycat.

The two big screen televisions mounted on the wall were tuned in to some early morning talk show; Maria grumbled around the for once empty break room until she found the remotes and swiftly turned them both off.

“I was watching that.”

She fairly jumped out of her skin, whirling around to see a body stretched out like a cat on a recliner in the back, red hair half hiding her face, and fingers orange as Natasha Romanoff chomped on Cheetos.

“… you know those aren’t good for you.”

Two coins and a swift punch of a plastic button brought a bottle of water tumbling down; Maria bent to retrieve and open it, taking a deep sip as she watched Natasha arch one perfect eyebrow at her over the bottle.

“Well, they’re not,” Maria said almost sullenly. She didn’t like the idea of Natasha eating junk food. She should have only the best, healthiest of anything – that _Maria_ should be serving her. She’d thought they’d be having dinner at her place; Maria may not have had a mama’s cooking to impress with, but she had her own skills, recipes that had become her favorites, favorites of the one or two friends she’d invite over for the holidays. She wanted to fix Natasha a fine Italian dinner.

It seemed Natasha took an extra bit of pleasure in raising the next Cheeto to her mouth, and Maria rolled her eyes before heading for the door, intent on taking the rest of her break back in her office.

“I’m not much of a breakfast person.”

Maria stopped, and looked back.

“You should be, it’s the most important meal of the day.”

“You sound like a commercial,” Natasha said, chewing loudly.

Maria sat in the row in front of Natasha, two recliners to her left. She looked at the now-darkened televisions.

“I make a mean omelet.”

“Mmhm.”

“Or,” Maria said carefully, “I could make some _oladi_.”

No, she didn’t have a cookbook of Russian foods in the bottom drawer of her desk.

“But please don’t put mayonnaise on your eggs, I’m pretty sure that’s where I draw the line.”

… she had two.

“This is fine.”

Maria scoffed in irritation, getting up from her own chair and moving to one next to Natasha. The young woman clad in black eyed her, and shifted a little, further away.

“Natasha, come on. You can’t have Cheetos and—“ She checked the small table. “—diet coke for breakfast every day.”

“I don’t see why not. Besides, it isn’t every day, and I eat well enough to make up for it. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, Commander Hill.”

She didn’t know why those words insulted her. Maria glared at Natasha, who simply smirked, seemingly amused by the ease with which she riled up the deputy director.

“You know why I worry about you.”

The smirk disappeared. The sheen of indifference passes over Natasha’s eyes, as if her gaze was focused on something far above Maria’s head.

“Can’t say I do.”

“You _felt_ it.” She was beyond frustrated. The woman she was bonded to had been away for _months_ , had come back a _week_ ago and Maria hadn’t even laid eyes on her until that very moment.

And the way Natasha had stiffened next to her, Maria was beginning to regret that she’d even chosen to come to the break room. The redheaded assassin had a cool, nonchalant look on her face, and Maria almost would’ve been fooled into thinking her words were meaningless, except for the subtle, barely-there twitch of a muscle along Natasha’s jawline.

“It’s cute how you assume I have feelings.”

Maria scoffed. The bitter retort was left off her tongue when an agent, a small little blonde girl in a smart blue shirt and black pants, waltzed in blithely, then took one look at Maria and Natasha and scuttled out.

Maria was clueless. She could gather intel, interrogate a witness, charm her way into any secured situation, but when it came to Natasha Romanoff and the words on Maria’s skin, she was clueless. She knew what was there, it was useless to deny it when every time she showered her wrist burned and the words pinked up like a wound.

But it was pretty damn hard to be a soulmate when, well, your soulmate wasn’t cooperating.

She grumbled and gave up.

Her empty water bottle hit the edge of the trashcan and bounced off; Maria swore under her breath and moved to retrieve it.

She’d go back to her office. Have a drink, morning be damned.

But again she stopped just before the doorway. Hand on her hip, Maria Hill turned to Natasha.

She held out her other hand.

Natasha gave her a quizzical look, drawing back a little as if it were a snake.

“Prove it.”

“I don’t like challenges before lunch.”

“And here I thought you weren’t scared of anything, Black Widow.”

She was probably hitting below the red hourglass-buckled belt, but Maria didn’t care. Her hand was unwavering in the air, and though Natasha shot her one of the deadliest looks Maria thought she had ever seen, her own lifted up, ever so slightly.

_Come on, come on, come on_ … Maria begged, her eyes never leaving Natasha’s face.

The assassin snuck her fingers out, little by little, staring at her own hand as her fingertips brushed Maria’s.

It wasn’t like lightning. It wasn’t like lightning or thunder or bells clanging. There was no instant heat, no surge of desire. No big sign dropping down out of the ceiling flashing YOU TWO ARE SOULMATES. The wedding march didn’t play, scenes of their future life together didn’t run like a movie in Maria’s imagination.

But it was, Maria thought, as she dared to press her fingertips _just that much_ harder against Natasha’s, what she had always imagined home would feel like. It was certain, and strong, like coffee at the start of a new day. Soft like clean sheets and a warm body next to her as she drifted off to sleep.

It wasn’t feeling, Maria decided. It was _knowing_.

Natasha’s leather jacket rode up on her arm as Maria pressed, their palms almost flat together now. Her face was still impassive, but her eyes had widened, ever so slightly.

Maria knew she knew.

In two seconds, less, their fingers would be intertwined.

Except Maria noticed the rough, scarred skin across Natasha’s wrist, like a piece of paper that had been erased too many times.

Natasha noticed that she noticed.

She was out the door before Maria had time to miss the touch of the Black Widow’s fingers against hers.

***

She slammed the beer back in two gulps, sprawling her feet out on her desk and letting her head rest against the chair.

The command center had been overrun with news reports on nearly every screen, agents running around convinced the world was ending, Fury rejecting decisions and missiles being launched anyway. She’d almost broken under the weight of her own relief when Stark had flown the missile into the portal. She’d watched the Avengers defeat the Chitauri and be hailed as heroes.

_And she couldn’t even see her fucking soulmate._

It was a wonder she’d been able to do her job. All she could think about was _Natasha_ and bombs and aliens and _Natasha_. Maria’s every instinct had her practically handcuffing herself to her console so that she wouldn’t steal a quinjet and fly to New York. If there was one thing Maria knew Natasha Romanoff would hate, it would be someone swooping in to save her like she was a damsel in distress. That didn’t stop her wanting to.

Maria turned in her chair and grabbed another beer. It was night, finally, and she stared out into the starless sky.

Natasha had captured the scepter and for a split second during all the work and worry Maria had had the thought of _that’s my girl_. She would’ve smiled except her face fucking hurt. And then it had been over just as quickly as it had begun, and the reality set in.

The helicarrier had docked and Maria was back in Washington, DC. Natasha was in New York, and was in no hurry to see her.

You would think, Maria mused to herself as she drained the second beer, Natasha would’ve been able to feel how scared Maria had really gotten. Maria didn’t really have the luxury of concentrating on her own feelings while the battle for New York was raging but she’d tried. Closed her eyes, reached out to Natasha with her mind, the whole Star Wars Empire Strikes Back thing, except she wasn’t a Jedi and apparently being a soulmate didn’t mean you were strong in the Force.

(God she was a nerd.)

So there had been nothing. She didn’t know if Natasha was scared. She hadn’t _looked_ scared, skintight black suit filling out nicely from her curves. Maria didn’t know how scared you could be with two guns in your hands, but it _was_ aliens. It struck her that Maria didn’t really know all that much of anything about Natasha other than what she had read in her file.

That Petrovitch decided to take Natalia to the Red Room instead of raising her had incensed Maria. That the Red Room had “enhanced” little girls, wiping their memories and transcribing false ones to ensure their loyalty, made Maria want to burn Russia to the ground.

The SHIELD file had everything that Maria would want to know from a tactician’s point of view: what forms of martial arts Natasha was an expert in, what weapons she preferred, how her very biology left her immune to disease and aging (mostly). But the file did very little to tell Maria what she wanted to know from a _personal_ point of view.

She found herself absurdly wondering what Natasha’s favorite color was. Maria assumed it would be red, but what if it was something off the wall like turquoise? She wanted to know what books Natasha read, what tv shows she would watch, if the soundtrack of her life was a bluesy riff or a Beethoven waltz. Hell, maybe it was a rap song, for all Maria knew.

And she’d never know, if the redheaded former assassin wouldn’t talk to her.

Maria was tired of imagining. Her mind could come up with some fantastic images of Natasha. She could create dialogue of the conversations they could have, the mundane stupid things they could do like going to the store at three a.m. because for some reason, Maria liked to bake in the middle of the night. She could close her eyes and feel Natasha’s hair at her fingertips, Natasha’s skin rising in goosebumps at her touch. Weirdly she sometimes fantasized that Natasha would sing to her. Other times there were imaginings that might be able to make even Tony Stark blush, things that Maria thought of when she was alone in her bed and she was too tired and frustrated for anything but letting her own hands wander.

None of the books ever told her it would be this way. Life had never prepared her for this. It was supposed to go easily, a plus b equals c. She didn’t exactly have the best model of how meeting a soulmate was supposed to go – it wasn’t like Maria had had two parents desperately in love and eager to impart their knowledge onto their daughter. Maria had grown up mostly unwanted, and to her, she felt that having a soulmate _must_ be the exact opposite. She remembered being a child and staring at the newly-raised words on her skin, her eyes wide in shock. Then the excitement had taken over and Maria had known, she had just _known_ , that sometime in the (she hoped) very near future, there would be a home to go to and someone to smile and be glad that _she_ was there, for once.

Funny how things never worked out the way you planned them.

She threw the beer bottles at the trash can, chuckling to herself when one bounced off and fell with a clatter to the floor. She _thought_ she saw Fury pass by her door, but Maria blinked and he was gone. Never could handle your liquor, she admonished herself. She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting another headache, and sighed heavily to herself.

Her love life was in shambles just like New York. Hell, she didn’t even _have_ a love life, unless you counted the love affair she was having with draft beer. Maria nudged her boots off before propping them back on her desk. She’d sleep in her office. She was Commander Maria Hill, deputy director of SHIELD. The triskelion was home.

She wouldn’t hope that she’d see Natasha walking into her office tomorrow, all red hair and taut muscles, a smirk lighting up her green eyes. Asking for a drink, or a talk.

A kiss. A promise.

But, Maria thought, not bothering to fight back a yawn, she could dream.

***

It wasn’t that the situation was good. No, everything was bad, very bad. Gone-to-shit-bad. Fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition bad. The world as they knew it would probably be coming to an end in less than 24 hours kind of bad.

But still, the realization of all _that_ wasn’t half as terrifying as the look on Natasha Romanoff’s face as she walked up to Maria.

The bandages covering the upper part of Natasha’s chest still made bile rise in Maria’s throat. It had taken all of her strength not to blow her cover in the truck before it was necessary, such was her desire to press her hand to the blood pouring from Natasha’s shoulder and _make it stop_. But she’d caught the look of shock on Natasha’s face when Maria had pulled the helmet off, a little flicker of... something… that Maria couldn’t quite put her finger on, but had made her heart soar with hope.

Which was now gone, because Natasha was bearing down on her with ill-concealed anger.

“You lied to me.”

Maria glanced up at her from the desk, logistics and laptops spread out in front of her.

“We did what had to be done.”

No way was she going to let herself be blamed completely for what was Fury’s idea.

“You made me think he was dead!”

Maria tipped her head in agreement, she couldn’t deny that. “Everyone had to believe he was dead for this to work. Also I’d like to point out that this wasn’t _my_ idea. You want to be angry at someone, be angry at Nick.”

“I _am_ angry at Nick. But you, I can’t believe you… I thought you would… I thought we were—“

“We were _what_?” Maria asked, her eyes wide. She tore herself away from the planning, and looked up. It surprised her, the struggle she could see going on with Natasha. She seemed at once angry and heartbroken, livid and confused.

“You thought we were partners? Friends? _Lovers_? We’re not even a _thing_ , Natasha.” Maria couldn’t disguise the bitterness that creeped into her voice. “It’s hard to be any of those when you won’t even talk to me, except to yell.”

Natasha’s gaze flickered away, and Maria knew the words had struck home. “I thought we were on the same team.”

“For all we knew even _Captain America_ was on the wrong side. Believe it or not, Natasha, none of this was personal.”

It had all felt very personal. She’d even asked if Natasha should be let in on it, and had been surprised when Fury’d said no. Whether his motivation had been mistrust or a desire to keep the Black Widow safe, Maria didn’t know. And she hadn’t asked. There were levels to Nick Fury that even his Deputy Director didn’t have clearance.

“You knew how much he meant to me.”

Maria’s focus on Natasha softened. She got up and moved to sit on the other side of her desk. She’d seen Natasha’s reaction. Had seen the Russian assassin reduced to tears, begging the director of SHIELD, “Don’t do this to me, Nick.” She knew Nick Fury had been one of the few to not give up on Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Had been a port in the storm that was Natasha’s memory-altered life.

It made Maria a little jealous.

“We did what had to be done,” she repeated. “And if you really thought about it from a logical standpoint, based on what we knew at the time, I bet you would’ve done the same thing.”

Natasha looked at her. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Maria nodded. “You can talk to me about it, you know.”

Natasha’s lips quirked upward into a smirk. “You can’t even handle my _physical_ wounds, Hill.”

“Am I supposed to like seeing you with bullet holes?” Maria asked defensively.

Both of them grew quiet in their own personal stalemates, then. Maria was still sat on her desk and Natasha was actually leaning against it next to her, their shoulders barely touching, but still touching. It gave Maria a thrill in the midst of all her irritation.

They were yelling at each other and nothing was anywhere near solved, but at least they were talking, right?

“I thought I was finally doing something right,” Natasha said quietly, and Maria looked over at her. Natasha didn’t look back. “Thought I finally had a second chance. SHIELD was the _Radusiya Mariya_ for my sins. You and Fury took a chance on me.”

Maria stared off into space. She knew how it had all ended up. SHIELD was going to fall, and she and Fury had kept Natasha painfully on the outside, like an orphan dreaming of a family.

She wasn’t going to apologize. Maria Hill had been a soldier first, a soulmate second. Especially when she was still only one half of the equation.

“Fury didn’t give up on you. I _haven’t_ given up on you. SHIELD will re—“ She stopped herself.

No one had any idea where SHIELD would be in a few hours. Where any of them would be in a few hours.

The smile Natasha gave her was patronizing as she pushed herself up off the desk. “Guess it’s time to get to work.”

“Natasha.”

She hummed noncommittally.

“Be careful, okay? They plan to kill millions of people; Pierce won’t hesitate if you get in his way.”

There was a lot more she wanted to say. Could say. Because her mark was ever-present on her wrist as Maria dared to reach out and place her hand on Natasha’s leather jacket. And though the Russian looked down at it with what seemed to be revulsion, she didn’t pull away.

Still, her mouth was in its usual cocky lilt as she said, “I’ll be fine. I can handle one asshole with an overinflated ego and a small dick, probably.”

Her hand left Natasha’s arm, raising to Maria’s face as she snorted. There was something vulgar about finding humor in all this, especially when the words _I love you don’t die_ were clanging through her brain like bells on a church. But Natasha was looking relieved, grateful, she supposed, that Maria’s sleeve had again slipped down to cover her wrist.

“Natasha.”

“We’re on a tight schedule here, Commander.”

Maria winced at the word. “Look, when you come back—“ (when, not if) “Could you at least… make yourself available? You don’t even have to talk. Just…”

“It’s time to go.”

“… right.”

But Natasha made no move to leave. She just regarded Maria quizzically, then suddenly said, “Tell me something about you.”

Maria looked at her dumbly.

“Something that no one else knows. Tell me a secret.”

It occurred to Maria that Natasha wanted to go into battle, to stare into possible death knowing Maria Hill in a way no one else did.

Something flamed in Maria’s heart, strong and sure as she thought.

“When I was eight years old,” she finally settled on, “I got a toy from the community center that Christmas. One of those things where they give toys to disadvantaged kids whose parents don’t have enough money.”

Or didn’t give a damn.

“I think it was supposed to be for a boy  ‘cause it was a Star Wars x-wing fighter. I hadn’t even seen the movies. But I checked them out of the library and watched them over and over for a whole weekend. They’re my favorites. I still have that x-wing.”

Natasha just stared at her with a look on her face that was unsettling, and Maria felt like an idiot. Maybe she should’ve gone for something more profound.

“What about you?”

For a long moment, Natasha didn’t answer.

Then, “I have to get to work.”

Maria tried not to let it bother her as she suited up, loaded her guns. Prepared to kill. Mentally prepared herself for friends to die.

She was grateful the suit covered her wrist completely.

***

“Murderer!”

“You sick bitch!”

“Go back to Russia!”

“Miss Romanoff, can I get your autograph?!”

Natasha actually stopped and half-turned. The young girl on the periphery met her eyes with a hopeful grin, and shrugged, holding out a marker and paper. Natasha hesitated so long that the girl’s smile faltered, only to return in full force when Natasha zoomed as quick as she could and grasped the marker.

_NAR_ , and next to it, a hastily drawn spider.

The teenager was jumping up and down as Natasha pushed her way past the throng of protestors reminding her of her sins, and into the pitiful remains of SHIELD.

The world hated them, and no amount of spin and PR Director Hill could muster seemed to do any good to change that. Or, maybe it would if Director Hill had made restoring SHIELD’s good name her only goal, but she _did_ seem to think that continuing to save the world was higher priority. Only four factions of SHIELD had survived after the algorithm had nearly done its job, and Natasha knew it was hell on earth for Maria to try to hold everything together.

She stepped inside the elevator, heading for the director’s office. Once she’d stepped off she could tell Maria’s door was closed, as it always was. There were mountains of paperwork to do, connections to try to re-establish, and if Director Hill ever stepped outside of her office it was usually just to grab a water bottle from the breakroom, Natasha knew.

Natasha’s first instinct after SHIELD had fallen was to run. She’d blown every single one of her covers, and now that the entire world knew her secrets she’d wanted to go to ground, to disappear somewhere until she could figure out who she was and what she was meant to stand for. She didn’t even have memory to rely on, her past coming together like the most bastardized game of telephone anyone had ever played.

And so, she had stayed. One night alone with beer and two full bags of Cheetos, Natalia Alianovna Romanova had decided that, for the past few years, SHIELD had been her only constant. Clint, Fury, Maria, hell, even Stark had cut through all the noise and muck that was Natasha’s brain and made the pieces come together in some semblance of a reality. One part of the Red Room had never really left Natasha: the desire for order, and scheduling, an outline of the way things were meant to go.

Maria seemed to understand that, and so she sent Natasha on missions. They were mostly busy work, Natasha knew, little things to keep her occupied and let her feel like she was contributing, even if they _were_ important to bringing SHIELD back together into at least a shadow of its former self. Natasha would do her job and send her reports, and then it was off to somewhere else around the world.

Which meant… she hardly ever got to see her director.

Natasha knocked on the door, glancing at the small gold placard to its left.

_Director Maria Hill_

“It’s open.”

She quirked an eyebrow as she poked her head inside. “Technically, if the door’s closed, it’s not open.”

“Romanoff,” Maria said in a surprised voice, though she didn’t look up from the file she held in her hand. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’ve been back for two weeks.”

“Right… things have just been so busy here…”

Maria’s voice trailed off and she looked up at Natasha then.

Maria had mostly stopped wearing her hair up in that severe bun she’d favored, and now it fell loose and straight around her ears, helping to combat some of the world-weariness on her face. Natasha felt a pang of something a little like worry before she pushed it down, and sauntered over to hoist herself up on Maria’s desk.

“Got a drink?”

There was a split-second of hesitation before she heard the mini-fridge open, and Natasha felt a cold one being pressed into her hand, and then the telltale hiss of Maria opening her own beer.

“To what do I owe the honor, Romanoff?”

It was strange, the way Maria said it. Clipped, guarded. She sounded… less like Maria and a lot more like Natasha, and Natasha did not like it, one bit.

“Just wanted a drink.”

In her position on the desk, Natasha didn’t have to look at Maria if she didn’t want to. And she didn’t, just lazily swung her legs, taking advantage of the fact that _yes_ , she was “the littlest Avenger,” as Tony had dubbed her once. Asshole. She took a slow drag of the beer, and contemplated just what in the hell she was doing.

She had gotten back from Tokyo nearly _three_ weeks ago, and Natasha wasn’t sure if Maria’s surprise was her actually not knowing, or if she was actually pretending not to know. Either way, it stung, even if Natasha hadn’t expected or wanted any sort of happy reunion. But it was weird, to have Maria suddenly so busy and thrown into her work that she wasn’t relentlessly asking Natasha for reports or contacting her “just to check in.”

It had been… annoying, at first. Natasha was used to reporting to her superiors, used to them checking in and making sure she was meeting all of her objectives, but Maria Hill had an ulterior motive that was plastered over her left wrist. She had an _expectation_ , and Natasha just wanted to get the job done and call it a day.

After Pierce, it had stopped. SHIELD was in shambles and the world hated them, and by all accounts Maria Hill had thrown herself into repairing the damage with a gusto that betrayed her intense Italian heritage. (Natasha may have, just once, just _once_ , for a few hours, read over Maria’s file.) Maria had stopped checking in with her, instead waiting until Natasha contacted the director herself to report on the mission’s progress.

It started to really, really bother her.

“This is good stuff.”

Maria snorted behind her, and Natasha grinned. “No, it really isn’t. But it does what it’s supposed to.”

“Which is…?”

“Takes the edge off.”

“Of?”

“Work,” Maria said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Natasha craned her neck over her shoulder to give Maria a look. The director had the good sense to look a little shamed.

“You need a good Russian beer, then.”

“It’s hard to get much of anything Russian around here,” Maria said, and Natasha nearly choked on the drink. She looked back at Maria again, and damned if the woman wasn’t wearing a self-satisfied smirk that made Natasha want to slam her onto a mat in the training room.

It was indirect, but it was the first acknowledgement Maria had made of their connection since they’d brought down Pierce and the algorithm. A weird warmth settled in Natasha’s stomach with the realization that she had been… _afraid_ Maria had forgotten.

She jumped off the desk, leaving the half-finished beer. “I gotta go, need to finish up some preliminary reports before New York.”

“You don’t go to New York for another month.”

“I like to be prepared,” Natasha said.

“There is such a thing as being too prepared,” Maria said, sounding almost disappointed. No, not almost disappointed. She sounded upset as hell.

Natasha shrugged it off.

“That’s a _babushka_ ’s tale,” she said. “See ya later, Director Hill.”

“Natasha.”

She couldn’t be blamed for the thrill that ran up her spine at her name, could she?

“At least take your beer.”

She hesitated, because to pick it up would mean she’d have to turn and face Maria, but Natasha did it anyway. Maria’s blue eyes met Natasha’s green ones, and for a moment Natasha wondered how she could have ever thought Maria would forget, because the expression was the same one that Maria had every time she looked at Natasha.

Natasha hated that hope even more as she closed the door behind her on the way out.

***

For some reason, the clock always read 8 p.m. when she knocked on the door. And Maria’s voice always called “It’s open,” because Maria was always still in the office at 8 p.m.

Every two days, for the past month, at 8 p.m. on the dot, Natasha would knock on Maria’s door and come in asking for a drink. Sometimes Maria would be working. Sometimes she’d be cleaning up her desk and actually getting ready to go home, but she’d immediately stop what she was doing and pivot to the mini fridge. Other times… her chair would be turned to the broad, floor-to-ceiling windows and she’d be staring out as the sun slipped out of sight in swaths of purple and pink and orange.

Today she was sitting with her long legs stretched out over the desk, tipped in high heels. She didn’t wear her SHIELD uniform anymore, and Natasha wasn’t sure if she missed it, or if she really liked Maria’s black pants and jacket, the white shirt that was loose just under her neck and showing off her throat. Maria was watching the door, Natasha realized. Expecting her.

The thought wasn’t entirely unwelcome, because tomorrow meant New York for a week.

For Natasha’s part, she wasn’t wearing her usual black; she’d traded it in for a pair of jeans and a tank top, with the collar of her leather jacket just barely brushing the bottom of her bright red curls. Natasha saw Maria’s eyes rove over her and she wanted to smirk, because of course. But once again Maria Hill surprised her, because her eyes softened not into lust, but into endearment. It was uncomfortable.

“Want a drink?”

“Nah, not tonight. I need to be clear-headed for tomorrow.”

“Good idea.”

“I have ‘em, on occasion.”

This was the way their conversations usually went. Casual banter, nothing of substance, teetering on the edge of something Natasha wasn’t willing to name. Maria had stopped trying to subtly, or not so subtly, steer their talks into different directions, and Natasha was mostly grateful for it.

“You ready for tomorrow?”

She shrugged. She was the Black Widow, being ready for a mission wasn’t really a question. The prelims were filed, she knew the objective, knew what she would have to do to complete that objective. There was, of course, always the specter of failure, which had become a bit more prominent lately since Natasha had found herself rather… distracted. But she would be fine. Normally her night-before-a-mission ritual was spent at home, breathing in and out as she concentrated and went over and over every little detail. Even making sure her uniform and weapons were cleaned and shone.

Now she was just sat on Maria’s desk, looking over her shoulder. The sun was almost gone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you,” Maria said, and Natasha shot her a confused look.

“For staying.”

“No offense, Hill, but me staying was more for me and not for you or SHIELD.”

“Which is why I should thank you.”

“You’re weird, you know that?”

She hadn’t turned away, and Maria smiled at her. “From you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You go ahead and do that.”

“Be careful, Natasha.”

“Worried about me?”

“I worry about all my agents.”

Of course she did, that was Maria’s job as the director. She worried about everyone, from Steve to Banner to Sharon Carter to Natasha. The redheaded assassin knew that in the hierarchy of things she wasn’t any more special than the lowest-ranked among them. Every failed mission had its casualties, names placed in cold plaques on the wall, and nothing rendered an agent more insignificant than when it was on a vast field of In Memoriam.

“Well, don’t worry about me, Director,” Natasha said smoothly. “It’s just intel, nothing major.”

Maria scoffed. “Everything is major at this point, Natasha. Everything is designed to—“

“Restore SHIELD, I know,” she finished. Natasha hopped off the desk. She’d just wanted to… say hi, she figured. And bye. See you later. Wish me luck?

“I’ll be fine.”

She headed for the door. Behind her, she heard Maria stand up, heels clicking on the floor. “Hey, Natasha, you dropped—“

_Fuck_.

She turned around to see Maria holding the picture of herself, the one that Natasha had copied from her file, the one that had fallen out of Natasha’s back jeans pocket.

“… something.”

She had carried it with her for months.

Natasha crossed back over to her and reached her hand out for it. “Yeah, I’ll take that, sorry.”

Maria held it just out of her grasp, staring at Natasha with an unreadable expression on her face.

“What… what is this?”

“Maria, just give it back.”

“No. What _is_ this?”

Natasha sighed. “It’s a picture of you, dummy.” Her heart wasn’t in the smirk she offered the director.

Now Maria just seemed infuriated, and Natasha shrank away from it a little.

“I can see that it’s a picture! My SHIELD ID picture, which, by the way, you could’ve chosen a lot better picture to be creepy with than _that one_.”

“I couldn’t find one,” Natasha retorted, crossing her arms over her chest now that she knew Maria wasn’t about to hand the picture over. Color flooded her cheeks, and she regarded the director grumpily.

“At least not one of you smiling.”

“I hate cameras! Wait… you wanted a picture of me _smiling_?”

Natasha shook her head. “I have to go. This is the last thing I need.”

She turned away, but a tremulous, confused voice stopped her.

“Natasha… what are we?”

Natasha dropped her head. In one fluid move, she had shed her leather jacket, and moved back to Maria, taking the woman’s hand in hers. Maria’s breath caught; her skin was warm, but her hand trembled and there was the sudden _need_ in Natasha to _fix_ that. Instead she turned her own hand over, and placed Maria’s fingertips against the scar.

“Feel that?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky.

Maria nodded.

“Feel the words?”

She shook her head.

“That’s because they’re _gone_.” Natasha’s voice cracked on the last word, and she wasn’t surprised to see Maria’s eyes grow shiny. “They took them.”

“Natasha—“

“But I had the words memorized,” Natasha explained, smiling to herself. “They took that too.”

Along with every other good memory she’d had. Natasha hadn’t been completely sure, but she’d pulled a thread. Found the file, and everything unraveled. She didn’t speak much about the Red Room and what they had done to her, how they had destroyed her memory, because she knew people would just look at her the way Maria was looking at her now.

“Do you remember the first words you said to me?”

“’I’m Commander Maria Hill, Deputy Director of SHIELD.’” The woman towered over Natasha as she recited the words.

“I would have known,” Natasha said, pulling away from Maria and gripping her scarred hand in her other. “I would have known exactly where you were. I could’ve found you, but they took that from me.” Her shoulders were slumped with the confession; Natasha had more important things to do than have a heart-to-heart with the woman who was staring at her now with a mixture of horror and love, the two things Natasha hated to have directed at her.

“Things could have been different. I could have escaped, I could have found you, we could have… been different.”

“Natasha?”

She looked at Maria. The director took that opportunity to step forward and wrap her hand around Natasha’s waist. The assassin flinched, but didn’t move.

“Natasha… you escaped. You found me.”

She laughed, a dry, brittle sound. “The mark is gone.”

“Not here,” Maria affirmed, holding up her own hand, where Natasha’s words confronted the Russian. She splayed her fingers wide, and Natasha hesitated.

She reached up, and entwined hers together with Maria’s. Her scar met her words, and Natasha gasped, closing her eyes.

This wasn’t like what she had felt that day in the interrogation room when she had first met Maria Hill. This wasn’t even like that morning in the break room, when their palms had met and Natasha had felt little flashes of _what could be_ in their skin, tingling and ripe against each other. Their hands lowered, no longer held between them at their chests, but dangling just lightly at their side and it felt, to Natasha, as if she had been holding Maria’s hand and being led by it from the very first moment she had stepped inside the Red Room until now, this time, standing only a breath’s away from each other in an office darkened by the setting sun.

Her words were gone, her memory was gone, but Maria was there, ever so present and _real_.

And Natasha was just so damn tired. Ever since Clint had brought her into SHIELD Natasha had spent her time running from everything that wasn’t a mission. Running from Maria. It got old, really. Old and exhausting and sometimes she thought it would be nice just to give up. That’s how Maria’s hand in hers felt. Giving up, in the best way possible.

Natasha opened her eyes just before she tipped herself up on her toes. She studied Maria, watching the woman’s face for signs of backing off, regretting anything. There was nothing there, and by the time their lips met, Natasha was more assured than timid, but it was still _kissing Maria Hill_. She didn’t know what she expected; Maria’s lips didn’t taste like gloss or peppermint or anything but flesh and salt. But they moved together and something inside Natasha’s brain sparked. It was all too brief, a peck really; Maria let out a strange noise and smiled, kissing her back.

Moments later Natasha stood back, her lips twisted into a shy smile. “Wanna know a secret?” she said, thinking about an eight-year-old little girl with a cherished x-wing fighter toy. A _memory_.

“I sure do.”

“I have a cat.”

Maria’s head tilted and it was such the cutest thing that the chuckle bubbled out of Natasha before she had a chance to stop it.

“You what now?”

“I have a cat. Well, she’s not technically mine, I just feed her and give her water and she sleeps in my apartment. And curls up on my lap when I’m watching television and gets really mouthy when I push her off the bed.”

“That sounds an awful lot like she’s your cat.”

Natasha snorted.

“What’s her name?”

Maria’s thumb was making slow, affectionate circles against Natasha’s waist, and their hands were still joined. Natasha was very not inclined to move away. She could just see Maria beaming at her in the light that remained.

“Liho. The name pretty much means embodiment of evil.”

“… yikes.”

“Oh, she doesn’t live up to her name, the spoiled brat,” Natasha said, and now her smile was wide and genuine.

Maria kissed her again, and Natasha leaned herself into it.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“Maybe you will, when I come back.” Natasha pulled away reluctantly, the moment clouded over by the realization that she’d be leaving for New York in just over eight hours. She plucked the picture of Maria from where the other woman had lain it on her desk.

“You’ll come back?” Maria asked hesitantly, and even though Natasha still wasn’t all too sure where this was going or what she was supposed to do, she reached up to touch Maria’s cheek.

“Let’s hope,” she said, and was gone into the night.

***

By the time Maria knocked on her door at a quarter after seven, Natasha had changed into three different outfits, pushed Liho away from the stove twice, and swore more time than was really necessary even for herself. But at least by the time Maria knocked on her door at a quarter after seven, the food was done, Natasha had decided that jeans and a teeshirt were appropriate enough, and Liho was meowing and pawing at the door like the good little absolute _annoyance_ she had always been.

Maria looked down at the black cat entangling itself in her feet, and then up at Natasha.

“Definitely your cat.”

Natasha grinned and closed the door behind them, shooing Liho away. “She already likes you.”

“That a good sign?” Maria wore a deep blue blouse that accentuated her eyes, and Natasha couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans hugged the director’s hips.

“Very good sign,” Natasha said. Maria was carrying a manila folder in her hand, and Natasha frowned.

“I uh… didn’t think this was a work meeting.”

“Relax.” Maria touched her shoulder briefly, dropping the folder onto the coffee table in the living room. “It’s not, I promise.”

Natasha grinned sheepishly and headed for the kitchen, returning with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“What time did you get in?”

Natasha glanced at the clock. “A few hours ago.”

“What?! You should be resting, not doing all thi—“

“Shhh.” Natasha poured the wine and handed Maria a glass before serving herself. They stood awkwardly for a moment before Natasha raised her glass, and Maria clinked hers lightly. The look in Maria’s eyes told Natasha that the other woman wanted to say something, but Natasha gestured towards the couch.

“Have a seat. I’ll bring dinner out in a second.”

“What is dinner?”

“Kotlety,” she said.

“Kot-what-y?”

Natasha laughed. “Meatballs,” she said, surprised to find herself looking at Maria fondly. “Meatballs with mushrooms, and mashed potatoes.”

“Wow.”

“What, didn’t think I can cook?” Truth be told, _Natasha_ wasn’t sure she could cook either, which is why her cheeks were a little flushed with pride.

“More like I can’t believe my luck.” Maria patted the couch next to her, and Natasha sat. She pouted when the dark-haired woman reached for the folder.

“Maria…”

“I said it wasn’t work, Nat, I meant it.”

And it wasn’t. Instead, inside were about six pictures of Maria, all taken at different places, at different times of day. One was in her office, clearly taken from the doorway. One in the breakroom, where Maria had apparently been engaged in a very intense game of foosball with a junior agent. Yet another was outside SHIELD headquarters, Maria leaning up against one of the walls. The last three were very clearly taken by Maria herself, and Natasha was intrigued to see a glimpse of what looked like Maria’s home.

In all of them, Maria was smiling.

“You can pick whichever one you want,” Maria said when Natasha had turned to her with a look of shock. “I figure if you’re going to carry a picture around with you it ought to be one that’s a little more… personal.”

“But I want all of them,” Natasha said softly, her fingers reaching out to touch the pictures.

“Really?” The uncertainty in Maria’s voice made the former assassin look over at her. “I thought that you might… regret…”

“Babysit Liho while I grab dinner?” Natasha said. She didn’t know how to deal with uncertainty. Better to jump up off the couch and go to the kitchen before Maria has time to respond. Her place was small, and there was no way Maria couldn’t see into the tiny kitchen from the living room, but it gave Natasha enough time to plate up the food and bring it back while trying to keep from panicking.

She didn’t do dating. Or this intense desire to have Maria _approve_ of her that had been following Natasha for the last week.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a fancy dining table with candles to eat on.”

“It’s okay.”

Maria wasn’t looking at her as Natasha placed the plates down and once again shooed off Liho.

“I don’t regret anything.”

_Now_ Maria was looking at her. “No?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

She was looking down at the food with wide, appreciative eyes, and Natasha grinned. “I can’t regret anyone who seems so impressed by my culinary skills. And who takes selfies just so I can have a smiling picture.”

Maria bumped her shoulder. “Going to return the favor?”

“We’ll see.”

Dinner was the name of the game then, and Maria was so cute with her apparent enjoyment that Natasha couldn’t even be angry when she caught the director feeding Liho little bits of mashed potato from one badly-hidden finger. Both plates were soon empty and the wine glasses refilled; Maria settled back with a satisfied look and Natasha grinned shyly at her.

“You seem happy.”

“It beats grabbing a salad from the joint down the street and eating it alone.”

“Well, that’s high praise,” Natasha joked. She reached into the drawer of the side table and pulled out a DVD. “I uh, thought we might watch Star Wars? It’s my favorite.”

One quirk of Maria’s eyebrow told Natasha that there was a reason she had risen so quickly through the ranks of SHIELD and was now the one chosen to bring it from the ashes.

“Yeah? What part do you like the most?”

“Um… the part where Han does… that thing with the thing.”

“Aggh.” She was caught out, and Maria shook her head, laughing as Natasha’s cheeks blushed as red as her hair. “Did you buy the DVD just so we could watch it?”

“You’re good at this.”

Maria was still smiling, and Liho jumped up into Natasha’s lap as she leaned over and gently pressed their lips together. Natasha let out a breath when they separated, her hand rising up so that she could run her fingers through Maria’s hair.

Her scarred hand didn’t seem so harsh, held next to Maria’s face in the lamplight. And when Maria twisted to actually brush her lips along the flesh, Natasha considered it the ultimate progress that she didn’t flinch away.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Natasha popped the DVD in and rested her head on Maria’s shoulder. The deputy director slipped her arm around her and drew her closer.

“Me too.”

“Nat? What’re we doing?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha answered honestly. She knew how this felt, easy and comfortable with the cat’s tail flicking against them both as the words began to scroll by on the television screen.

“I like this,” she said, gesturing to their hands, now joined in their laps. “I like us. I don’t want to have sex yet,” she hurried to add. “That’s kind of…” She trailed off. Sex was something she did on a mission, when she had a target. Seduction to extract information was one of her trademarks.

But the “yet” was heavy in the air between them.

“Not tonight,” Maria agreed, with the smallest hint of a smirk, and Natasha returned it. “But when we’re ready.”

“And I can’t say that I lo—I can’t say that yet.”

She knew it. She felt it. She’d known it the minute her hand had touched Maria’s in the break room, those many days ago. Or possibly before, but those memories couldn’t be trusted. She’d have to create her own again, like with everything Natasha had done in her life.

Still, there was a “yet.”

Maria kissed her. “I can wait.”

Natasha nestled her head closer on Maria’s shoulder, and smiled when Maria dropped several light kisses along her hairline, their hands still linked together. Scarred words bringing with it a promise.

She didn’t realize her eyes were closed until Maria spoke up.

“Did you maybe buy the other two Star Wars movies?”

“I thought there were si—“

“There’s _three_.”

Huh. Natasha nodded, making a mental note to return the others to the store. “Yeah, got them.”

“Oh good.  I uh… wouldn’t mind if we watched them all tonight.”

Natasha chuckled and wrapped her other arm around Maria’s waist. “I kind of thought that might happen.”


End file.
